


Ghosts and Feathers

by ladiesandlilies



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cute, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Klaus - Freeform, Made myself cry, Other, Sad, The Umbrella Academy - Freeform, This Shit Gets Dark, Umbrella Academy - Freeform, abusive childhood, big sad hours, drug usage, eventual soft smut, klaus hargreeves - Freeform, klaus hargreeves/reader - Freeform, self sabotage, soft, tua - Freeform, yes dave is still valid, yes we do bring up dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladiesandlilies/pseuds/ladiesandlilies
Summary: basically i'm sad and i love klaus and i needed this fic written. i put so much time into this. i tried to make it a very inclusive self-insert fic for all identities since klaus himself is incredibly inclusive with his love affairs. i’ve basically gotten everything written out, so fret not. i’ll be posting a chapter as i revise them. please enjoy, and if not, then i'm sorry. go rewatch umbrella academy or something. feel free to reach out to me! my twitter is ladiesandlilies. much, much love and happy reading! xx





	1. Chapter 1

You don’t typically walk with your hands in your pockets. For one, your morning walk to the job insists upon having a coffee in at least one hand. Warm, despite the season. You like the dichotomy of the heat behind the styrofoam pushing against your ever-freezing fingers. Secondly, your free hand always seems to find something to touch. A kinesthetic pleasure for the masses surrounding you every step of the way. The morning dewdrops collecting around the black iron finials of the sidewalk gates. The gentle hammering of your fingers against each picket. The currents of the spring breezes, carrying your arm on their backs. The scales of tree bark scraping your skin. The softness of Mrs. Pettigrew’s silk roses. The cold steel of a doorknob. Touch provided an assurance of a reality in which you could help create. You liked your mornings quiet, especially when you could hear the soft hum of A/C units harmonizing with the robins. You align your footsteps against the cracked tiles of concrete, following winding paved rivers that lead to nowhere. And, for some inexplicable reason, you mindlessly count your footsteps, always starting over at 7. Each step rendering a quiet number of acknowledgment. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7…1,2,3,4,5,6,7. This morning was no different. 

Your eyes were closed so it’s no wonder you didn’t see him. Until your face lightly slammed into the back of his leather jacket, your mouth full of…feathers? “Oh God, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention; I don’t know what I was thinking. I…” You scrambled for any excuse, words bumbling out of your mouth as you stumbled away from the poor guy you just assaulted. “I just…I’m really sorry. God, what was I thinking…I’m sorry.” It was a struggle to make eye contact, a losing game whether you did it or continued to stare at the concrete but you had to look, only to make your apology seem completely sincere. 

You were met with a goofy grin, which quite honestly, took you very much by surprise. A grin from a sickly pale face, framed with disheveled brown hair that barely covered his blood-shot eyes. If that wasn’t off-putting enough, his outfit couldn’t have been more outdone. His bare pasty torso contrasted greatly with the black leather of his coat, a neon pink boa thrown haphazardly around his neck. Paired with leather pants that could honestly be a bit looser, if he wanted to be modest. He was cadaverous, at best. So much so that you couldn’t look away. That’s the excuse you told yourself. How could you not look away?

“Oh, not thinking were we? Well, that much is obvious, don’t you think, little bird?” His tone was lighthearted as he bounced lightly on his heels, his head cocking slightly. A child. A very scary child.

“No, yeah…I…I’m sorry…what?” Little bird? Is…is that what he called you?

He giggled, shaking his head. “Did you know that, statistically speaking, Monday is the favored day for self-destruction. No wonder everyone’s so miserable.” He followed this with a dramatic sigh before instantaneously perking up. “Well, Happy Monday, Little Bird!” And he waltzed off. Quite literally waltzed away. 

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, watching him dance down the street. People are so strange. Little Bird…where did that even come from? “Hey…hey! Wait!” You called out to him. He pivoted around, an amusedly quizzical look arching his brow. “Little Bird…what…where did that come from? That’s not my name.”

That same goofy grin crept across his lips. “It should be. Goodnight, little bird or whoever you are!” And with that, he winked and advanced on his path, his whistling trailing behind him, bouncing across the bricks. 

“…but it’s 9:30 in the morning…” You shrugged, rubbed your brow and continued on down the pavement, eyes assuredly open. 

Green. His eyes were green.


	2. Chapter 2

Panic. A dark wave, sucking at your bones and pulling your lungs tightly together. Twisting them against the ribcage until you’re left writhing on the matted carpet, clawing at your own throat. You’re breathing in air, severely gasping until the back of your throat sears with burning pain. Yet your brain has decided otherwise. Who knew the living room floor would become a vast black ocean where you’d find yourself thrashing in icy waters that drag you under while you stab your own life raft. Home is only a four letter word. 

You managed to scrape yourself out of the attack in pieces, crawling over to your shoes. They slipped on with some difficulty; your trembling fingers could only do so much. God damn you, you cursed hands. Jerking on your jacket, you snatched your keys off the plastic laminate of the kitchen counter and stuffed them in your pockets, making sure the door clicked securely in place behind you. You were used to this, of course. Once or twice every week or so they would come. Each one feeling longer than the last. Each walk becoming longer than the last.

Your jacket was not strong enough for this spring night’s wind chill. The beginning of March always dealt the harshest nights but the most radiant days. No one could have too much of a good thing. The night could never be too quiet. Distant sirens rang out as background noise along with the slick blur of moving cars against glossy pavement. The farther downtown you got, the more the rotting garbage stench clung to every crevice of the bricks. Your heart fell in time with the bursting bass of some packed out night club. Silhouettes darkened. You tried to focus on the clouds of exhaled air dissipating seconds after it hits the frigid air, but you felt the shadow before you heard them. The back of your neck tingled, causing a slight ripple of goosebumps to crawl down your spine and wrap around your forearms. Peripheral vision is not the most reliable, but there was no mistaking the figure slithering behind you. Cold sweat crept at your hairline. Heart rate accelerated. A small swallow. Your pace quickened, if only slightly. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. 1,2,3,4..is he gone? No. Go, go, go. 1,2,3,4,4,4,4,4…you were running. Their footsteps trampled heavily against the concrete in time with yours. This was panic. This was pure, unadulterated fear. 

Your eyes scanned for anywhere to go, any place you could slip away if you could only just go faster. The cold air began tearing through your lungs, ripping at the seams of each tissue. But you had to keep going, even as your calves burned with a searing swell of pain. Finally, you went for it, veering off into an alley last minute. You yelped as your knees slammed against the concrete, pain shooting up to your neck. You could already feel the skin breaking against the sharpened nails of the street. You covered your head with your arms, bracing yourself to the consumption by darkness. Clenching your eyes shut, you counted aloud - a concrete thought to cling to in your last moments. A hurried and frantic string of numbers. “1,2,3,4,5,6,7,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,1,2,3-“

“There are more numbers than just those seven, you know.” A small scuffle and a familiar voice. Your hands gradually unclasped from behind your head, trembling as you peeked up to discover the Goth David Bowie, huddled against the water-stained stone building. He tilted his head. “Somebody scare you, Little Bird?”

You released a shaky sigh, falling back to sit on the wet ground. Your bloodied knees poked through the debut holes in your jeans causing an immediate wince. You dared not peel back the fabric to see the extent of the damage. It’s a wonder you didn’t bust your knee out completely. Your eyes wandered back up to him, registering that he actually asked you a question. “Oh…yeah. I was-I was chased. Somebody was…they were…chasing…me.” 

He huffed out a slight laugh. “Those damn wolves…don’t know how to leave a simple little bird alone, do they?” 

You couldn’t help but smirk, studying his gaunt face. Noticing the sweat beading his forehead and his weak shivering. He twitched his head as if brushing off some unnoticeable thought, whispers of the mind. “Are you okay?”

“What? Me? Silly question, Little Bird.” He tutted his tongue at you, shaking a finger.

“That’s not my name. And you’re not answering my question.”

“Out of the both of us who is the one in more obvious distress. For Christ’s sake, your knees are practically covered in blood. You must give damn good blowjobs.” 

You squinted, biting your lip to repress an amused smile, lest you boost his lousy ego. You still, however, managed to scoot over next to him, studying him closely. 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he snickered, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

“You look frail. Haunted.” He only let out a snarky laugh, leaning his head against the stone. “Withdrawal, isn’t it?”

“Well, aren’t you a smart cookie? Does Polly want a cracker?” Defensive little shit. You shook your head. 

“No. But I do think it’d be a good idea to get off these streets, don’t you think?”

He considered you a moment, his eyes sweeping over your face as if he could read into your intentions. “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been offered to stay the night.” He winked, slowly picking himself up, with much more support from the wall than he’d admit. 

Rolling your eyes, you attempted to stand, but another spark of intense pain shot up through your legs, striking a sharp blow your gut, and you plopped back to the ground. “Dammit…” 

He walked over, offering a shaky tattooed palm. “I don’t suppose you’ll want any help or anything, do ya?” He gave a cheeky smirk. How could you refuse? You slipped your hand in his and let him guide you up onto your weak feet. You attempted to stand on your own two feet, but his hand stayed in yours, gripping you tightly. Your eyes traveled from your conjoined hands to his face, but his eyes were somewhere else, looking beyond you. Everywhere else but you. Almost as if he was searching for something? You glanced behind you only to find a glistening murky alley. His features softened as his hooded eyes scanned the background, glazing over with tears. His nostrils flared and a bewildered smile crossed his lips. 

“Hey…is everything alright?” you asked gently, as if the smallest noise would cause him to jump out of his skin. His eyes flickered down to yours and for one small infinity, your stomach was an inescapable knot, and the ground was an idea far beneath you. Emerald joy stared down into you with a small nod. 

“Yes. I’m…I’m grand. It’s just that…your hands-your hands are cold.” His grip tightened ever so lightly. 

“They always are. Can’t seem to keep them warm.” 

He slipped your arm over his shoulders and wrapped a sinewy arm around your waist, providing much needed support and a feeling you hated to like. You winced at the sting but managed to shuffle much of your weight against him, a closeness you haven’t known in years. Warmth from the curve of his neck gently pressed against your cheek. His racing heartbeat drummed softly in his chest like a whisper. You could close your eyes and sleep here. Sleeping in the arms of a stranger - comfort within the foreign. Painless.

“Oh, ah…before I let you into my house, I should at least know your name.” 

“Klaus,” he grinned, “Klaus Hargreeves.”


	3. Chapter 3

You unlocked the door, its faded white paint beginning to strip off the wood. You liked it this way, elegantly dilapidated, even if the squeaking embarrassed you sometimes. You fiddled the light switch off and on until the lights finally flickered to life. You had a nice apartment, really. There was a soft cream trim around the floorboards and door frames, faded pastel blues and pinks coloring each wall - cracks spreading from the corners like an old Renaissance painting. The floorboards gently bent underneath the pressure of each foot fall, releasing a slight crack as it moaned in pain. The guest bathroom’s faucet constantly dripped against the porcelain sink, a sound that normally goes unnoticeable until it’s time for bed. The radiator shuddered and cried a thunderous roar every time it woke up. But there was nothing to be too ashamed of here. You kept it clean. There was a subtle grace in each of your apartment’s flaws. 

“It’s not much, but it keeps me warm and gives me a place to sleep. I can’t complain.” You shrugged, tossing the keys onto the countertop and shrugging off your damp coat. By now, your jeans were stuck to the dried blood from your exceptionally balletic collision with the cement. You hobbled over to the counter and pushed yourself up to sit atop it, digging through the cabinets and pulling out the first aid kit, tending to your knee. Klaus browsed for a second but found himself right beside you, unashamedly rifling through your cabinets.

“Painkillers…you’ve got painkillers, right? I’ve just got a nasty, awful headache. Yeah.” He didn’t wait for a response, immediately reaching in and grabbing a bright orange bottle, his eyes skimming over the label before tossing it. He muttered as he ravaged through your medicine cabinet, a child with slithering and determined hands. “Aha! Here we are! Perfect, perfect, perfect little pills! Come to daddy!” He was almost singing to the pills themselves.

It was insulting that he really considered you to be this stupid. You slapped the bottle out of his clammy hands before he had a chance to move, the plastic clamoring to the floor with a primal rattle. “Absolutely not. You can’t just take my medicine, Klaus.” 

“Aww but why not?” He whined, “I thought it was supposed to be fun here. I normally have plenty of fun with new people.” 

“I’m sure you do.” You snatched the bottle from the floor, stuffing it and the other medicine bottles into a childproof drawer and then settling yourself in front of it. Grabbing the first aid kit, you resumed digging for the antiseptic wipes which would absolutely sting like a bitch but would be a necessary evil. Klaus resorted to rummaging through your fridge, which you let him do. At least it wouldn’t be your pills. 

“So no alcohol either, huh? How do you live, Little Bird?” He looked at you with a mix of awe and disappointment and a twinge of disgust. 

You shrugged, hissing as you felt the antiseptic stinging as it soaked into your wound. “Like a damn normal person,” you muttered through your teeth. You tossed the wipes aside and applied ointment thoroughly, pressing a large bandaid onto the nasty scrape. Pulling yourself up, you disposed of your trash and turned to look at him. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Water? Coffee?”

“Pills…Pills would be incredibly nice.” He cracked his neck, lightly pulling at the child-proof drawer. “Pwetty pwease?” He made a mockery of pity with his bottom lip poking out.

“You’re absolutely pathetic. I’ll put a pot of coffee on. You’re welcome to sit anywhere. There’s a TV. Bathroom down the hall on the right.” Popping the filter into the canister, you put stout coffee grinds inside. Turkish roast. Strong and bitter and robust, something to give a good bite, to maybe take the edge off his withdrawal. You didn’t notice Klaus settle himself on the floor, watching you like a curious dog with his head tilted and green eyes following your every move. His eyes lazily trailed your fingers as they prepped the coffee pot, the way you softly smiled at the smell of a freshly opened batch of grinds, the gentle patter of a steady drip of coffee into the pot. 

His head lulled to the side, hands going limp. The dull thud of his wrist hitting the floor was enough to grab your attention. “Klaus?” You carefully knelt before him, gently shaking him by the shoulders. “Klaus, wake up. Come on.” A few more shakes proved futile. You firmly slapped his cheek, calling his name louder. “Do not die in my house, Klaus, come on!” Even splashing him with ice cold water did nothing but cause a mess to clean up. “Klaus, please! This isn’t…this isn’t funny, Klaus! Please!” 

There is a particular sensation in the stomach whenever something alerts the body. A foreign shadow in their peripheral, an absence of phone or wallet in a pocket, the inability to reach someone who could be hurt - the stomach knots itself and drops into the ankles of the stressed individual. Dread, they call it. It leaked out of every crack in your voice as you called his name. Fear. Anxiety. Worry. Distraught. Desperation. 

His hand twitched. A small moan escaped his throat. You set him upright, wiping his face with a cold towel. “Come on, Klaus…come on. There you go.” His eyelids fluttered as another strained moan echoed throughout the apartment. “Klaus…?” He flinched away from you; he was breathing, yes. But he wasn’t quite awake yet. He was dreaming. You stood slowly, keeping an eye on him as you snagged your favorite blanket from the couch. Wrapping the warm fleece over his shoulders, you tucked it around him and settled yourself beside him, unsure of what exactly to do. 

You watched him, a careful observer analyzing a new specimen in curiosity and wonder. What would it do to simply reach out and touch him, just a small stroke on the skin. He was, by no means, unattractive. He was just different, and you were, considerably, only strangers. But the desire to run a finger or two through those dark tousled locks was no less. His jawline and cheekbones were defined, sharp edges on an unrefined creature. He wore eyeliner, which normally would raise an eyebrow or two, but it only enhanced the virescent flames that burned behind his long lashes. Another twitch of the head, a tick of the hand, a sudden outcry for it to stop. 

“Make it stop, no, no, no, no, no…please…stop, stop!” His face contorted in fear, sorrow burrowing in the furrow of his brow. “Please…” his voice broke. You’d never seen a grown man cry, much less succumb to the terrors of one’s own concocted nightmares. Your chest tightened, your heart wringing itself senseless down to your stomach. Sympathy had its claws secured tightly into each four chambers of your heart. Your greatest enemy. Your deepest friend. Your hand reached out and gently caressed his cheek.

“Klaus…” 

He gasped, eyes shooting open and bolting upright. His hand latched onto yours, fixing it in place against his cheek. He leaned into your hand, pressing his face into your very palm and sighed, a slight smile of relief forming despite the hammering in his chest and his unsteady heavy breathing. 

“They stopped…it stopped…quiet, quiet, quiet…oh God, they’re gone…” His eyes fluttered closed again, keeping your palm against his cheek. 

“What stopped, Klaus? The nightmares?”

“The voices, the voices, everything…” Another faint grin ghosted across his lips and his eyes flickered up to you, studying your own. “Thank you, Little Bird.” You felt the warm slickness of a tear tracing your fingers and slipping underneath the skin of your palm. You only offered a faint nod, confusion and a strong tug of compassion keeping you silent. He inched closer, settling his head against your shoulder. His hands clutched to your shirt, desperate and unwilling to let go. His burning forehead nuzzled into the curve of your neck, and maybe you allowed yourself to enjoy it if only for tonight. You settled back against the cabinets and wrapped an arm around him. He was going through a withdrawal, and he more than likely had no one to hold him together. Alone, like you. 

Klaus’s eyes drifted shut again, his lashes brushing against your neck. You felt his breathing even out, deepen. He was falling asleep in your arms though his grip on you never slackened. You gently rested your cheek against the soft down of his hair, staring at the kitchen sink faucet, daring it to drip. How did you end up on the kitchen floor with a strange man sleeping in your arms? 

All because you were counting. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7.


	4. Chapter 4

Music is one of the rare activities that uses every portion of the brain, each sector illuminating like a burning skyline with another measure. The heart matches its rate to the beat of music, involuntarily connecting you with each song, which is why it affects our perspective of the world around us so directly. Music is a publicly hidden vulnerability; most of us are just unaware of the bond it forms between two of the most unlikely people.

He had awoken before you, as your eyes fluttered open to find an empty space where he used to be. You didn’t notice that he had left because the blanket had been tucked around your shoulders, mimicking his warmth. A fresh pot of coffee waited for your eager hands. You shifted yourself onto your aching legs and surveyed the room. Ordinary. You called for him, even scavenged every room of the apartment, hoping that maybe he wasn’t truly gone. But he was. You shouldn’t have been as disappointed. But you were. You pressured your coffee into offering some support, but it did no good. It was only a cup of coffee. One that he made, sure. But it wasn’t Klaus.

The next few days were typical. Usually, you would have found a comfort in the mundane. Routines were your lifeline. But your morning walks were dull. The cold front brought in a wind chill that isolated every breathing creature, frosted over the lining in your lungs. You walked with your numb hands stuffed in your pockets. You took different paths to and from your home, partly to shake up the everyday standard and partly with hopes to catch a glimpse of eyeliner emeralds or the flicker of a neon pink boa. He was only a stranger, though. He could be long gone. And you, well, you were stuck here. A bird caged in its own creaking nest. 

You had succumbed to the thought that he wouldn’t be returning. Why would he? Anyone can do what you did. The couch squeaked underneath you as you curled up under the blanket, mindlessly browsing through channel after channel. Your eyelids were heavy, and you had accepted the lumpy couch as a replacement for the bed for the night. 

And then came a melodic knock. 

You scrambled out of your handmade burrow, tossing the blanket aside and grabbing a knife from the kitchen. You gripped the cold metal between your fingers, inching towards the door. Another melodic rapping resounded followed by whistling. You furrowed your brow. No one would come to your door at this hour. No one would come to your door, period. You slowly seized the brass handle and twisted, inching it open. 

“Klaus?”

“The one and only, birdy,” he slurred, a smug grin etching itself underneath his facial hair. “Suddenly, I heard a tapping, as of someone gently rapping. Rapping at my chamber door. Didn’t you hear me rapping?”

“Um, yes,” you let him inside, clearing your throat. “I just…I wasn’t exactly sure you’d be back. You left without…without goodbye.” You shut the door behind you, leaning back against it, studying him. A part of you ached for an apology, some sort of explanation. And yet, that other part, the one who would rather hush any uprising feelings, wished the conversation to be kept at a bare minimum. Perhaps he was embarrassed for seeming so helpless, sleeping in your arms. A crying child pulled from a nightmare, forging a link between two strangers. He didn’t even know your name. You had no idea where he came from. Of course, you would deny that you liked this, your role in some perpetual stage show of irony. But even then, you were slightly offended that he’d just show up like this without contacting you. Yet, a large part of you was filled with a warm relief that seeped through every vein from your chest to your stomach. He was back. 

“Ah, yes, but I did leave you some coffee.” He giggled, throwing himself onto your couch and snuggling with the blanket, smushing his cheek into the fabric. “Your laundry always smells so nice. Lavender and…and clean…” He heaved a sigh, a content smile painted on his face. 

“Klaus, you reek of alcohol.” You walked to the kitchen, fetching him a glass of water. You should be humiliated that you let him run rampant through your home, that you care for him without even thinking a second whispering thought. But you aren’t. You like it this way. 

“Why, thank you. I didn’t even have to try too hard,” he mumbled, happily taking the water from you and downing it. All you could do was laugh at this strange, strange character. 

“What are you doing back here? I thought you left town for good…or something…I don’t know.” You perched on the cushion beside him, eyeing him carefully. 

“Oh, darling, I never left. I just had business to attend to is all.” Lamentable lies. Surely, he knew you were smarter than that. 

“The track marks say differently. And so does your breath.” 

“No, they say exactly the business I was doing, silly bird.” He thumped your shoulder and picked himself up off the couch. “It’s so dreadfully quiet in here. No wonder you’re so miserable.”

You defiantly stood, you weren’t miserable! “I’m not - “

“Where’s the music? Where’s the-the fun?? I’m a dying man here, you’ve gotta help me out.” He grasped your hands, feigning a pathetic cough. 

“You’re pitiful,” you lightheartedly sneered. “There’s a record player over there. I don’t know if you’ll like anything I’ve got, which isn’t much but…I guess you could take a look.” His face lit up, kissing your fingers and spinning on his heels to browse your collection. You shoved your hands back into your pockets. You didn’t want to need the warmth from his hands. You didn’t want his lips to brush more than your fingers.

“Oh, a fan of the Smiths, are we?” He winked, slipping the vinyl carefully out of its cover and, with the utmost care, settling it on the turntable, placing the needle precisely where he wanted. The music echoed out across the room and with it, Klaus’s dancing.

You were uncomfortable at first. He was just there, dancing. It was amusing in some way, but what do you do? He moved in a mystical sort of way, as if possessed by the spirits of gypsies long ago. Graceful in a reckless way. You shifted your weight, scrambling for conversation, your hands clenching up in a self-conscious fueled anxiety. “Yeah…Morrissey, The Smiths, you know, they’re….they’re angsty. In a cool way, I guess. And-and I like that, yeah.” Stop. Stop talking. Shut up.

“Dance with me,” he grinned over at you. “Come on, it’s not that hard.”

“No, no…” You shook your head, backing away. A nervous laugh escaped from you. “I don’t…I don’t dance.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, Little Bird.” He walked over to you, grabbing your hands and pulling you out from behind your shield of a couch. Your cheeks flushed, a knot forming in your stomach. “Just let the music flow…like this…” He swayed with you, watching you with a subtle revelry. “Let it carry you. It’s not about looking cool, Little Bird. It’s about having fun, and you’re absolutely too stiff. A walking corpse. Just look at you.” A light-hearted shake of the head, snickering as he grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you around like a rag-doll. “Loosen up! Life’s too short to be giving fucks out like they’re charity cookies!” And you laughed. You laughed a big, no-fucks-given, straight from your belly, laugh. There may have been a snort hidden between the gasping breaths of air. Joy is an odd human commodity, coming out in the most unexpected places. It coerces the mind to silence and the soul to expand for just an inkling of a moment. Perhaps that was why you gave in to the music, losing all sense of judgment or care. The wooden floor boards beneath you were glass and you were surrounded by nothing but your euphoria. You were nothing but your ecstasy. If only you had seen the pride outlining his grin, the clarity slowly residing behind his ever softening eyes.

You felt the pads of his fingertips slide up across your palms. He danced closer to you, your fingers intertwining, moving together in a symphony of chaos and harmony. It was only when you found yourself inches away from him that you slowed down. The joy hid itself back in the corner while apprehension took its place. You were both breathing in ragged tempos against rapid pummeling beats of your hearts behind loosened rib cages. 

“Well, don’t stop now,” he breathed, his green eyes drilling into your own. Intensity so potent, you felt it burning a hole in your chest. He hummed in your ear. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…there is a light that will never go out…just like you count your steps…to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die…don’t think I don’t notice how weird you are.” He murmured a laugh, his steps matching yours as you slowly began your unified duet. You were in a shared universe. You were a star and he, the sun. Orbiting around each other. Being drawn closer by a force outside your own capacity of willpower. A moment caught between fragments of time. You could say nothing except do as he guided you, your eyes transfixed on his. A slow revolution across the stars of your living room floor. 

His face was barely centimeters from yours. You could see the green light softening behind those eyes, his features subtly easing into a lingering gaze of want, of need. His eyes flickered to your lips for one brief second. His intentions were no longer suppressed. Your heart caught in the dip of your throat. Pulse for pulse, breath for breath, soul for soul - the synchronized pull between the two of you was irresistible. A stolen, suspended second. You could feel your lip tremble as his breath brushed against your chin. The electricity almost stung, an unbearable ache, an unbearable need. You both wanted this. 

“You should shower, Klaus.” You whisper, your eyes falling to the floor as the facade fell away. A quiet swallow. A single nod. A disappointed sigh. He pulled away and walked to the bathroom. You could hear the squeak of the shower valves and the steady hiss of the water hitting the porcelain tub. You bit your lip, watching the endless cycle of the vinyl echoing the sounds of an empty ending.


	5. Chapter 5

You don’t know why you let him stay. For someone who wanted to repress any growing feelings, you were certainly doing the opposite to alleviate the itch. After a few days, he brought a small suitcase of his things, tucking it away behind a side table so as to prevent anyone from tripping over it. He inhabited the living room. You weren’t sure how much comfort a couch could provide for sleep, if he ever slept much at all. During those few days, you established a new routine, a cycle shaped around each other. You both ended up bound by the silent string of time. He had your coffee prepared every morning, as if it was his newfound niche in this small apartment. A valiant job of which he was incredibly loyal. His day-time agenda was unknown to you. He had to get out sometimes because you’d come home to find alcohol in the fridge or a new vinyl settled in with your collection or more articles of clothes piled up in his suitcase. But he was always there when you arrived home, waiting for the lock to turn. It gave you a reason to expand your cooking skills, seeing as he basically had none. You gave him credit for those nights of trying, but they always ended up with takeout. You’d eat dinner at the table, conversations revolving around everything and nothing at all. Afterwards, you’d both pile yourselves haphazardly on the couch and scorn the soap operas you secretly loved. There were nights where you both fell asleep there. You, clutching a pillow, and he, curled into the back cushion. Other nights, you’d awaken in your bed to hear him crying out, the nightmares cursing his sleep to be filled with unbearable fears. You’d softly pad into the living room and kneel down beside his trembling, twitching form. You’d take his hand and sit with him until he slipped back into a peaceful oblivion. These nights, you resolved to stay with him the rest of the night, seeing as you couldn’t pry your fingers from his tightened grip, and you’d wonder what it would be like if he slept in your bed. It wouldn’t be hard to welcome the cold sweat he’d leave on your sheets.

Klaus was easy to live with. You never thought domesticity would suit someone like him. He was an addictive wild card with die-hard habits, but he managed it. You allowed him free range in your apartment, permitting him to access what he needed to. He picked up after himself for the most part. You never had to do a scrap of his laundry. When he was feeling particularly generous, you’d come home to an empty kitchen sink and a personal serenade of Stevie Nicks. You’d pretend not to notice how his eyes lingered on your smile when you walked through the door.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coffee. Coffee and burnt…something…clawed at your nostrils, causing an automatic scrunching of the nose. Your eyes peeled open, staring at the off-white ceiling. You had slept relatively well, seeing as your limbs were spread and tangled in the sheets. Your cheek even had a decorative wrinkle engraved in the skin, a bitter reminder of your sweet interrupted sleep. A ruckus came about from the kitchen. Pots and pans clanging together. Loud music. And an even louder singing Klaus. You stretched, one that popped your back in such a wonderfully satisfying way, and you clambered out of bed, shuffling into the chaotic mess of a kitchen. 

You squinted against the light striking through the opened blinds. Klaus had a sizzling pan in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A singing fire hazard. A singing and dancing fire hazard. “Klaus,” you sighed, frowning at the dull pounding of loud music against your freshly awoken head. You scuffled forward, shutting off the music. 

“HEY!” You were met with a grumpy scowl, albeit an amused one. Pointing the spatula at you, he snapped, “I was listening to that, you know. How. Rude.” He shook his head, setting the pan down. Whatever was in it had no business being eaten, its demise obvious through the stench that unfortunately filled your small apartment. “I made breakfast, sleeping beauty.” You playfully glared, walking over and peeking into the pan. A blackened husk of what should have been bacon. You prayed to God it wasn’t eggs. 

“I’ll take some coffee,” you poured yourself a steaming cup and, in one continual swift motion, snatched the cigarette from his fingers and put it out in the sink. 

“ExcUse me, I was enjoying that particular cigarette.”

“They’ll kill you.” You shrugged, sipping your coffee and letting the warmth fill in your belly. He, in turn, blew a raspberry, tossing the spatula and pan into the sink. 

“Well, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I already do so much stuff, I shouldn’t be alive at all.” He giggled. You nearly spewed your coffee back out across the floor, pivoting on your heels to slap his arm.

“You take that back.” He could have been joking, sure. But something told you there was a small truth behind his light retort. Even if it was meant all in jest, your heart still ached slightly. To think someone you cared - no. - someone you respected hurt so deeply somewhere within, they could only joke about their suffering. But then again, you could be overanalyzing. 

Klaus snickered, lightly tapping your nose. “I’m thinking about getting into some trouble today, Little Bird. Whaddya say?” He gave you a devious grin, knowing his proposal was almost ridiculously irresistible. You stood there for a moment, hoping your coffee could just make your decisions for you (and in a way, it does). 

“What kind of trouble?” You asked with a hesitant lull behind each word. You had no idea what this man was capable of and part of you really didn’t want to find out what his version of trouble was.

“Oh, I don’t know. Might fuck around with my brother. I kind of want to burn things…you ever wonder what it’d be like to watch a whole bag of chocolate burn? It’d really light up the room!” He giggled. You shook your head, smiling at how hopelessly bonkers he was. “There’s plenty to do around here. You just have to find it. Speaking of, do you have any cash on you? I could seriously use some.” His eyes were hopeful, pleading, craving.

“I’m not giving you drug money, Klaus.” You rolled your eyes, giving him a slight shove and walking yourself to the bedroom to tidy up and start getting ready for the day. He stalked your every step, begging for cash.

“Just a little bit to take the edge off, please. I won’t go crazy with it…I-I need this. Please. You don’t understand, I just…I really need this. Especially if you go off and leave me behind somewhere. What am I going to do then?” He was pathetic, to put it nicely. You’d never second-handedly dealt with an addict before, but you could acknowledge that their craving was beyond a mental need but also a physical one. His desperation and sincerity could have made an entire army fall to their knees. You wanted to grant him what he wanted, to somehow make him happy. But fatally medicating the brain to fake its own happiness, its own peace, was not what you were willing to do. 

You walked into the bathroom, Klaus trailing at your heels. He wouldn’t stop that incessant begging. “Klaus!” He halted, silenced by your outburst. “Get yourself ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?” Confusion never looked so innocent. “Where are you taking me? Please don’t turn me into the cops, they’re such a nuisance to deal with. I won’t do anything stupid, I just - ”

You held up a hand to silence him again. “I’m not taking you to the police, Klaus. Pinky promise, cross my heart. Just listen to me and get ready. If you need the restroom, I won’t be but a minute. Just make yourself decent.” You shut the door in his face, smiling to yourself as you prepped your toothbrush. 

“Babe, I always look decent,” he smirked from the other side of the door. You could hear his fingertips gliding across the cracked wood, loitering outside the door. A wandering puppy clinging to the one who found him. 

“You have no problem being in love with yourself, deviant.” You laughed, the toothpaste foaming at your mouth. But instead of a returning bark of laughter you were met with quiet. An unexpected, isolating moment. You figured you’d at least get a solid ‘asshole’ from him, but instead he went radio silence. 

“I’ve got no other choice but to love myself, Bird.” You blinked, turning to face the door. Your hand reached for the door handle, the cold metal seeping into your palms. The breath hitched in your throat as you started to say something, but you decided against it. His hushed footfalls stepped away from the door. You were left clutching the doorknob, a toothbrush dangling from your lips and a burning guilt on your tongue.

God knows you’ve got no choice but to love yourself.


	6. Chapter 6

A heavy sigh escaping cracked lips. Cold raindrops pummeling fragile skin. Loneliness etching itself deeper into a trembling ribcage. A clenched throat clutching back cries for help. Cold hands reaching, reaching, reaching. A black ocean’s fingers grasp at your heels. Frigid waters sting as they rip through your lungs. You can see the green light, but your vision is fading. Whispers scream out your name; the water pulls you under. This is giving up. Everything is muted. Everything is dark. Everything is cold.

Your back popped as you sat up in bed, a dull rumble of thunder pulling you out of your slumbering black hole. Your mind was chaos and peace all at once, lungs heavy with a shrouded melancholy. You transfixed your gaze on the wall, slowly blinking. Your weighted eyelids threatened to remain shut over your glazed eyes. The soles of your feet pressed against the hard chill of the floor. Your mouth was dry, you noticed how your tongue seemed to rest against a sandpaper roof of the mouth. A single breath costed too much energy. You movements were slow, barely processed. A black mass attached itself to your brain, sucking every bit of motivation from your nerves. The world around you existed in a hazy shade of lusterless grey.

Klaus was still sleeping, burrowed into the nook of the couch where the seat and the back met. You envied his peacefulness. His steady exhales mocked you. Walking over, you lightly brushed your fingers through his hair, your fingertips hesitating on his cheek. Your gut urged you to curl up with him, to let yourself melt into the rise and fall of his chest. But you couldn’t allow yourself that pleasure, much less entertain the idea of it. You pulled away and headed out into the bleak, unforgiving morning. Klaus called out to you, but by that time, you had shut the door. 

It was like trudging through water. Movements held back by the weight of the surrounding air. Reality was viewed through fish eye lenses. Time dipped its fingers into every hour, stretching them thin as the day wore on. You were surrounded by oppressed clocks. Momentum ceased to exist. Mentality consumed the flesh and orchestrated a horrible symphony in which you were the lead. Glances from each passerby buried you underneath another concrete layer. Today, you were not okay.

Your return home was wordless. An attempt to slip inside was futile, but at least you tried, keeping your eyes averted to the floor as if it would somehow conceal every inch of you.

“Oh, so I don’t even get a ‘Klaus, I’m home’ ?” His prying eyes peeked up over the back of the couch. You bit your lip. Somehow, that voice, that damn voice managed to crack the very walls you had built to keep yourself intact. And now, here he was in all of his shit-head magnificence, busting your defenses to pieces. Your face flushed, heat crawling through every pore. Your throat tightened, a sharp ache bursting against your vocal chords. Blistering tears welled up. Your lips pursed as you felt the familiar throb of whimpers hammer against your windpipes. A calamitous horde of emotions all condensed into one fragile vessel. Ignoring him, you hurried yourself to your room, but he caught you by the shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong? Talk to me. You never ignore me like this. What’s wrong?” His voice was low, breathy, serious. There was no lilt or animation. Tender concern filtered through every word. You weakly shoved him away, furiously shaking your head. Your jaw ached from biting back the flood. You wouldn’t talk about it. You couldn’t talk about it. His grip on your shoulders tightened, refusing to let you go. He enveloped you within his arms, his hand resting on the back of your head as you surrendered to the roaring anarchy beating at your mind. The both of you crumpled to the floor as your knees buckled. A broken sob escaped against his chest, your face buried against the cotton of his shirt. You were a chorus, a mourning outcry against a brain that treated you the worst. Your knuckles were white from the strength of your grip on his back. Muscles rippled underneath your arms as he shifted to hold you closer, tighter. “Just breathe, bird. You can do that,” he whispered into your ear, “1…2…3…4…5…6…7.” The numbers struck a rhythm to follow with each measured respiration. Despite the ravaging embarrassment, there was an overwhelming relief that washed over you. You were a shuddering and sweating mess, secured within his hold. The walls around you melted into the floorboards. You and him were still. Halcyon. Undisturbed amongst the flames. In this moment, he became the only thing you’d ever had any faith in.

—————————————————

You both ended up laying side by side on your bed, flat on your backs. There was an uncertainty dangling above the both of you in the dark as you searched the rifts branching out across the ceiling. First words never came easy to you. Acknowledging the preceding hour would mean accepting it, and accepting it would mean it was real. You opened your mouth to at least say something, but the words caught between your teeth, so your jaw fell closed again. You supposed in instances like this, no one should speak. The sheets rustled beside you. 

Klaus’s silhouette propped his head up on his elbow, catching you in his hidden gaze. “Who hurt you?” He questioned softly.

“What?” You rolled over on your side, staring back up at him. The delicate closeness of your two bodies suppressed any discomfort that was left itching at the back of your head. 

“Who hurt you? What caused all of that?” He didn’t ask if you were okay, you noted. He wanted to know why you weren’t okay. 

“I - I don’t know…no one. It’s just one of those days.” 

“No one cries just to be cute. That mess I just cleaned up wasn’t caused by nothing. You were in pain. You are in pain. Who hurt you?” Fragility dances with sentiment. His voice echoed across the space between you, a whisper leaking over with frailty. You were burnt up with his floods. 

You let out a sigh, eyes foraging over his darkened features. His sincerity scared you. Vulnerability frightened you even more. But he held you while you bared a sacred, hidden part of yourself to him. What harm could one more leap do? 

“I don’t know. I have my days like this, you know. I get in my head, and I think about what’s happened in the past or I-I question who exactly I am or I scrutinize every inch of myself until I’m practically scrubbed raw. To the point where I’m unrecognizable to myself. I just get so disgusted with myself. I guess it started with my parents. No, it definitely started with them. They hated me since birth. Fucked up crackhead alcoholics with no desire for a kid. So that meant no birthdays, no recitals, no award ceremonies, nothing. I mean, they’d get thrown out if they showed up anyways. But a part of me wanted them there. Do you realize how much it sucked to watch other kids get hugged and loved on and praised for every little thing they did? And there I’d be. Just watching. Maybe I’d get a hug from a teacher or something. But I knew my parents would have no clue who I was when I walked through the door.” Your heart cracked, the foundation shifting until an entire sinkhole engulfed what guards you had left standing.

“So, naturally, growing up with absent parents, you forge your own ways of survival. You…you morph your day to day routines around them and you keep pushing forward and you forget about all the hurt they caused because it gets in the way of everything else. But even then, it really wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand my own existence. I was fifteen when I got hooked on barbiturates. And I had easy access to whatever I wanted since our cabinets overflowed with all sorts of shit. I liked being numb. I liked being emotionless, walking around doped up and so uncaring. Fuck you, world. Fuck you, feelings. Nothing mattered. And I moved onto cocaine, heroine, uppers, downers, anything you could think of. I was so high, I saw angels. And it alleviated the pain so well. That’s what was so addicting, I think. Not having to face your demons. Medicated machinery. And that’s how you get used to having nobody. So when you told me that I didn’t understand…I knew exactly how you felt, Klaus. I knew every bit of that full-bodied itch.” You wriggled in discomfort at the hardened shell you shed for him to see, swallowing back the uprising tears. 

“How did you stop?” You felt his stare, questioning just how you dug yourself out of the grave he was burying himself in.

“I went to rehab. I suffered through several withdrawals. I got a job. The urge simmered out over time. I relapsed a few times, don’t get me wrong. But there are some things you have to let go to be able to truly live. I had resolve. A reason to be sober.”

“What was it?”

“I didn’t want to be like them.” He considered you a moment, your blubbering testimony processing through every cog in his head. “What about you, Klaus? What gives you those nightmares?”

He shrugged, shaking his head, eyes focusing elsewhere in the room. “What gives everyone nightmares. Subconscious fears.” 

“Now you’re the one full of bullshit. I sit with you almost every night. Your nightmares far surpass severe. You genuinely worry me sometimes.” You sat up, forcing eye contact. He was a shitty liar, and you weren’t letting this slip from you. 

“I genuinely worry everyone, sweetheart.” 

“Klaus…”

He inched his way back down to the bed, an unwilling sigh heaving through his nose. You both sat suspended in a self-induced silence. He focused on the ceiling once more, propping an arm behind his head. You resigned to the quiet and laid yourself back down. 

“They speak to me.” Your brow furrowed at his sudden response. But you didn’t ask questions. You let him talk. “The dead. They speak to me. All the time. They always have ever since I was born. Every second of every damn day. It’s nonstop. Constant blah blah blah screaming in my ears. Absolutely terrifying half the time.” You opened your mouth to question just what the fuck he was talking about, but he continued on to avoid the questions. “I was born with it. You remember when the Umbrella Academy was a thing?” A simple nod was all you could manage. “Yeah, well, hello, that included me. Number Four…most stylish, most tortured.” Hargreeves. No wonder it resounded with familiarity when he introduced himself. The fractals of unanswered questions began clicking together, but you remained a silent party. 

“As I said, being able to talk to the dead isn’t all fun and games. Being a walking, talking ouija board sucks. It’s terrifying. It traumatizes a kid. And dad, with all his paternal care and love, would lock me in a mausoleum for hours on end to eliminate my fears. I was twelve. Twelve fucking years old. It was dark. And-and corpses, they would just scream at me. Scream and curse and beg…what was I supposed to do?” His voice cracked, a tear dripping onto your sheets. You felt his body tense, muscles hardening, heart rate racing. “ ‘You must become the master of your own life, Number Four, or it will become the master of you.’ Bullshit. It’s all bullshit. Life is just one big rotten pile of bullshit, and no matter how much you hate yourself, no one deserves half the stuff they get thrown into. No one.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “And they follow me everywhere, the ghosts or spirits or whatever. It’s not something I can just turn off and on. Then, I met my holy savior, pills and alcohol. They shut it off. Somehow it messes with the Ouija wishy-washy stuff and shuts them all up. I haven’t been sober since I was a teenager. So, yeah, I can be a whiny asshole just like any other addict. But I need them. I n e e d them. Or else I’m stuck listening to nonstop chaos from absolute randos. And I don’t like being there. I really don’t like being in that place. So I stay high as a kite…until…” he trailed off, his eyes falling on you. 

“Until what, Klaus?” You uttered nothing but a whisper. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. You knew. He was a hard soul to save, but any oceans between the two of you had been crossed. You’ve seen him. He’s seen you. You gently took his hand in yours, the pads of your fingers tracing over the inked ‘hello’ on his palm. Ever so timidly, you moved his palm to caress the side of your face, eyes meeting his halfway. He brushed a thumb across your cheek. Loneliness once cradled you like an infant, keeping you hidden away inside its crib. She was your defense, your protector. A mother locking away her child to keep the outside world from getting in. But you didn’t need her anymore. The world had you here, nestled in its arms. It submerged you in green light. It grazed your forehead with a tender kiss. It pulled you closer, allowed you to press your face into the curve of its neck. It lulled you to sleep with the heavenly ache of its heartbeats. The world was broken-hearted, and so were you.


	7. Chapter 7

Pancakes. He requested pancakes. Without a moment’s hesitation, you obliged quite happily. You could do pancakes. He started up the coffee pot, a particular buoyancy carrying him across the kitchen. Naturally, his next move was queuing up the music. “A Saturday morning cured by The Cure,” he snickered to himself. 

“How dare you play a song about Friday on a Saturday morning, you absolute whore!” You smiled, snatching a whisk from the holder and whipped the batter with a violent determination. The glass bowl absorbed the chaotic good you put into the world, hardly shifting in the curve of your arm as you let yourself dance recklessly around the kitchen. You allowed yourself to be dramatic. To let the morning light soak your bones and carry you on some wavelength that only you and Klaus walked. 

“We’re all whores, here, sweetheart. Everyone sells parts of themselves to something.” He winked. Your back turned to him, beginning to pour batter onto the iron pan. A satisfied tingle ran up your spine from the sizzle it created. Or maybe it was from the sensation of his gaze idling on you. It was as if you could feel his stare, not matter how far. It bled through your spine and tugged at your stomach and, somehow, you would find him. You wondered why the gods chose to knit yours and Klaus’s lifelines together, weaving two polar orbits into one. Time was irrelevant. Four months dissolved into an indefinite course, and the only thing that could ever hope to put a dent in this universe had to have catastrophic force at least - a great cataclysmal crash. But, for now, the galaxies revolved around a pair of lonely creatures. 

His soft footfalls crept up behind you. His fingers tapped up your forearms before he nestled his chin on your shoulder, his cheek gracing your own with the slight coarseness of his stubble. “You better not burn those.” You flipped the pancake to reveal a golden point proven.

“Klaus, have I ever given you burnt food?”

“No, but I can be devastatingly distracting,” he smirked, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you. He gently squeezed you and let go, pouring the both of you a cup of coffee, setting them at their respective places at the dinner table. You finished up your pancake perfection, tidying up a bit and fixing his plate. Klaus was practically bouncing in his seat; the pancakes drew out the child within him that was never allowed to be. 

Most importantly, he was eating. Not too little, not too much. He looked healthy, of all things. Sobriety painted his skin with flourishing blooms of color. His cadaverous pallor subsided into a fervent glow. It was intoxicating. You remembered when you began starving yourself at seventeen, craving an intense emptiness. You believed love could be found in the drugs, in the emptiness. At least back then, you could label it as hunger and avoid recognizing the fact that you were alone. And now, he was the only person you’d stop the world for. Even if everyone else saw him as the biggest mistake. He would be yours.


	8. Chapter 8

There is always a calm before the storm. A frozen juncture in time where every breath is hushed, every movement ceased. Thousands of eyes cast ahead to watch the boiling storm raging towards them. Regional humanity all gathered to watch a wrecking ship that could destroy one person’s life in an instant. Goosebumps raise. Static runs deeps within the veins. Time fractures boldly across an aching sky. Fear rumbles deep within bellies. But for the time being, you are all joined together under harmonious quietude to enjoy the sun before the world crumbles into black disaster. Because, you had found, that apprehensive serenity could send the lions to sleep.

It took you less time than you thought it would to adjust to sharing your bed. You were generally incredibly stingy when it came to your bed. But if anything, you welcomed it - knowing there was always someone to wake up to. Comfort was found in the whispering of sheets beside you. You relished the way his deep breaths tickled at your ear, faintly smiling at an occasional soft snore. Some nights you ended up tangled in one another’s arms, others you drifted off with your backs facing each other. Your favorite ones were when you both fell asleep mid-conversation with your head buried against his chest, if only to sleep to his heartbeat lullaby. The darkness was no longer uninviting. 

Tonight, you were restless. Your legs wanted to quiver, to jerk, to twitch. You tossed and you turned, not in the least disturbing the chosen one, Klaus, who was knocked out cold. You tried drinking water. Counting sheep. Measured breathing. Stereotypes be damned; they didn’t work. You resorted to just staring aimlessly at the ceiling until your brain graced you with sleep. But minutes slipped into hours, and the clocked jeered at you with its blaring red numbers. Your eyes were completely adjusted by now, so you could discern the shadow of your lurking jacket hanging on the doorknob and the looming darkness of the farthest corner. A soft snore roused you from your haze, eyes darting to his curled up figure beside you. Aggravatingly endearing. You were jealous, but God, you wanted a portrait of this scene. Reaching out, your fingers kissed his porcelain cheek, outlining his distinct jaw. A god amongst men. A part of you yearned for him to awaken, to find you like this. You wanted him in all his carnal glory. It was a strange but appealing thought, to imagine the two of your bodies entwining out of nothing but intense desire. The very thought of your hands tracing every notch on his spine was enough to cause your downstairs to tingle. For fuck’s sake, you hadn’t even had a proper kiss yet. You still had the gall to crave sex like a hormonal and touch-starved teenager. If only you’d allow yourself the pleasure to expose every unguarded inch of yourself to him. But you were a hopeless cause with lips and thighs that screamed for him. You curled up excruciatingly close to him and resigned to a fitful sleep.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Klaus sang obnoxiously from the living room. A sleepless groan escaped from your throat as you threw a pillow over your face. This should not be allowed. Waking up like this should be an absolute crime. You huffed into the pillow and threw it off your face, grumbling as you stomped onto the floor. You didn’t give him the pleasure of knowing he woke you up, but you supposed he already knew by the angry jerks of your bed-making. Your feet scraped across the floor as your groggy movements kept you lagging behind the present tense. The chair was hard and uncomfortable at the dinner table. You wanted your bed. 

“Good morning - eugh,” he winced at the sight of you, stepping back. “I would say beautiful, but you’d still be angry either way. So I’ll say it, you look rough.” Your tired glare burned into him. In the most dramatic way possible, he scooted your coffee cup towards you like a zookeeper attempting to feed a rampaging tiger. “Tame those demons. Yikes.” 

“Shut up, Klaus,” you growled. 

“Impossible to ask of me, but okay.” He raised his hands, eyebrows lifted, slipping back out of his chair to fiddle with something elsewhere in the apartment. Your glare shifted its focus on the steaming cup of coffee. Fuck him for being so cheery. Fuck this cup of coffee for most definitely being a good cup of coffee. Fuck - 

The record player scratched, and a familiar tune called out to you. You sighed, taking a particularly big chug of coffee and rubbing your face. You knew, you just knew, he was grinning deliciously at the back of our head, and you were not about to look. You were sleep-deprived and you were grumpy and you had every right to feel this way. The slight rustle of his clothing crept nearer to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as he drew closer. “Klaus, I’m not in the mood.”

“Then, let’s get you there,” he quietly laughed, his head coming to rest gently on your shoulder. The slight vibrations of his humming trembled against you, his scruff brushing up against your cheek. And you had no choice but to lean into that little shit. “You know you want to dance with me,” he whispered in your ear. His lips delicately brushed the rim of your ear. Your stomach knotted, hands twitching in a fight to keep yourself steady. But he so easily knocked down the very fortress you built up, that stubborn asshole. Good God, he’d have you begging to give him your life. His hands squeezed your upper arms then trailed down to your hands, surrounding your body with his and for once, you’d let him drown you. 

He guided you so naturally from the chair, drawing you out across the living room. You wanted to resist the way your body surrendered to his puppet master hands, but your heart cried to move me, move me, move me! You were nothing but a shaking limb in his torrential winds. His arms wrapped around you, inching you closer - dangerously, dangerously closer. There was a darkened gleam underneath his smirk. Primal and hungering. Your hips pressed into each other. Your fingers lingered at his waist, hooking into the belt loops. You felt that carnivorous pull in your stomach, the lust tightening every muscle, quickening your heart rate and deepening your pulse. It seized every organ in a grip of disastrous need. His forehead rested against yours, those green ocean eyes bathing you in carnal waves of deliverance. His eyes carelessly flickered to your lips, the air in your lungs halting. As Icarus drawn to the sun, so were you flinging yourself into him, melting yourself away in all your entirety just to be with him. This would be your greatest downfall. 

Inhibitions released, your lips collided into one great apocalyptic crash of absolution. Madness ensued in your veins. Your hands wandered across his chest, gripping his shirt as if holding on for dear life. Mercy be damned, this was your sacrifice. And oh, how proud Eros was. Klaus’s hands, a hurricane of caresses, roamed every inch of you - each kiss growing more desperate, more demanding. Your fingers gripped the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head and you enveloped yourself in that naked altar. A low growl escaped from deep within his throat as your fingers scoured over his neck. His name fell from your lips in a confessional mantra. This was an ache you couldn’t alleviate alone. You’d confess every one of your sins if it meant he’d anoint you with his judgment. Your body would buckle in his ravenous flames but you didn’t care. This was not giving up. You were giving in.

Clothes scattered themselves in your path to your bed, your beckoning shrine. A tangle of sweating, quivering bodies against cold sheets. Like vines climbing up a decaying tree, limbs entwined in a wild dance for redemption. Lust thrashed in your stomach in an animalistic ritual. This was beyond faith. This was the worship of carnivores. He was an extraordinary sight, divinity clothing his every curve. You watched dusk and dawn rise and fall in his eyes. It would be your last sunrise. No other sunrise before it would be remembered. You watched it breathlessly with the magnificence of your first dawn. And when it was over, you would say your goodbyes to the sunlight and turn back to the darkness. Your moans were desperate prayers against his skin. Ripples of muscles echoed against your gasps for sweet sin, against his groans for deathless death. Your souls were bared to one another in a celestial rapture. Divine unity found in the synchrony of your movements. Nails scraped against skin, blessings poured over every inch of exposed skin. You whispered things in the dark you’d never dare to say in the light, reaching for an erotic benediction. You needed him. By God, you needed him. A lucid rite of intimacy. The kings and queens were the same as fools. You found yourself panting for the delicious torture painted across his face. The ecstasy in his every moan. Your trembling body burned in the sacrificial flames, scorching any ideas of repentance. This need was too urgent to repress. Your heart was a naked artifact that you so willingly flung, bleeding, into his hands. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him. Like a script engraved into your very skin, you loved him. And that would be your purest sin. Your frantic praises merged together in a crest of pleasure. The bedroom filled with your echoing cries, and you were both left in a knotted, quaking heap. 

Your face buried into the curve of his neck, skin sticking with the heat of a passion divulged. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, clutching you tightly, keeping you close. You remained like that for a while. Stillness embraced you both, wrapping you in the comfort of each other’s convictions. You listened to his breathing even out. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7. A smile lazily lingered as you counted. He pressed another kiss to the side of your head and another on your lips, drawing it out as if he’d never kiss you again. Your fingers fumbled through his hair as you grazed your lips over his nose, his cheeks, his chin. His eyelashes skimmed the edge of your jawline, stubble bristling against your collar bones. He only wanted to hold you and to be held. To bask in the rarity of being wanted. The both of you needing affirmation that you have someone who cares, someone who’s consistently aware of the other’s presence or lack thereof. His hands traced your spine, smoothing out the rough edges in your back. It was in that suspended time of content silence that those three fatal words threatened to tumble from your tongue as your final amen. But this was a prayer to be kept to yourself, until he was ready. 

You both adjusted, your head resting on his bare chest. Your ear pressed right above his beating heart. You hoped that he kept you in there somewhere. You lay there in silence for quite some time. Your fingers lazily traced patterns on his chest and upper arm, his thumb tenderly rubbing your shoulder blade. This was how it was meant to be. All of your lifetimes entwining together for the culmination of one sparkling moment - if only you could make a deal with the gods to halt the world around the two of you and let yourselves remain forever in this one snapshot of time. 

His voice was soft when he finally broke the silence, his tone one you’d never heard before. It was intrinsically sincere, laced with a sweet innocence and understanding of something far greater than himself. “You found me…and I found you.” His gaze remained on the ceiling, reading something beyond the ceiling. “I need you here with me, all the time, every second of every day.” His eyes met yours, the pain of that lonely child reaching out to your own hidden pain. “Promise me, you won’t ever leave me,” his broken whisper shattered your ribcage into pieces, taking your heart with it. You nodded, your fingertips lingering on his chin. 

“I promise,” you whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I’ll never let you go.” You pressed a kiss to the tear you pretended not to notice and settled yourself back down, tucking your head underneath his chin. His grip tightened on you ever so slightly. You lay there in the dark, waiting for your heartbeats to fall in sync. Home was no longer a four lettered word. It was five. You chewed on your bottom lip, those words gnawing at your throat until you couldn’t fight them back anymore. 

“I love you, Klaus,” you breathed, the words barely escaping into the air around you like a drunken recitation. You held your breath, terrified of what was to come. You admitted it. The final layer of your security stripped away, the biggest truth you suffered to keep shrouded in darkness. And now it lay out there, naked and dangling right in front of him for him to abuse as he pleased. But you were only met with a quiet snore. Relief trumped the disappointment as you released your bated breath. You played your cards too late but with such a strategic hand that there was no harm. No defeat in your surrender. You shed your truth to the world, and now it was only a secret kept between you and the faded blue wallpaper. There would be darkness again, but for now, the world was illuminated only by green light.


	9. Chapter 9

Floods are the most common natural disasters and the most often overlooked. They say that floods cause the greatest destruction and death than any other. Most people underestimate the pure havoc rushing waters can wreak on the lives of innocent people. Adam’s ale poisoned with grief. Homes, businesses, families, lovers, friends…it can all be swept away in one gushing stampede simply because someone believed the levee wouldn’t break.

You lived together in a bliss you thought you would never obtain. The domesticated life of lovers was a dream you used to believe was only to be watched from behind glass walls. But here you were, in the thick of it all, exploring the dream as if it was meant for you. Life had finally dealt you a hand worth bidding on. You were comfortable, and you were happy, wonderfully and incandescently happy. The struggles, everything that broke you to this point, happened just so the two of you would find each other - your broken shards fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle. And of course, you both had your moments. Arguments that could last for minutes and end up in the bedroom or ones that could last for days with the nights spent sleeping in separate rooms. But it was okay. Because for you, this was your world, your everyday universe. Time, in all of his annoying omnipotency, set this course for you to walk into this vast consummation with him, where you both remain in some fixed zenith for the rest of your life. But there were fissures spreading across in the glass. Ones you wanted to deny, no matter how worse the devastation of your choices got. And the dreams revealed themselves to be just as they are. Fantasies.

“You’re my boy,” you would say to him. At all of his mistakes and mishaps. At the hilarious outbursts - ‘Klausephisms’ - as you called them.

“I’m your boy,” he’d grin back. This was the closest you ever came to an ‘I love you.’

You sometimes wondered what those words would sound like from his own voice, that simple little promise from his cleverly dumb tongue. When would he say it? How would he say it? In a moment of intense passion, uttering it in a life saving mantra. Or perhaps in the soft stillness of a rainy evening dinner. The man was bewitchingly unpredictable. But sometimes, just sometimes, you’d question his affection. Perhaps things were too good. Life doesn’t let one stay comfortable in paradise for too long, and your mind created canyons between the two of you. Over-analysis purged emotional stability right out of you. It was a constant back and forth, tossing yourself about like a hurricane. Your organs barraged themselves around your bosom, a flurry of insides broiling in the sea of your storms. Your haunted house of a heart was such a disastrous thing to inhabit. Dust collected on every decaying surface, and the walls moaned with the ghosts of yesterday. Of course, you’d never let him see. You’d suppress the haunted heart and force it back to its grave. You would not let your demons torment him. You loved him, but you sunk yourself in a constant state of chaos, finding yourself between clinging to your savior and heaving away some long forgotten relic of unheard sermons. You burned yourself against the heat of his sun, your skin melting away to reveal the busted heart you tried in vain to sacrifice to him. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. But neither were you. Amazing how the lack of three simple, overrated words could have you dangling by a thread at some torturous angle. It made a crucifix out of you.

————————————————

Klaus jerked awake, bolting upright in a panicked blur of cold sweats and panting. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed, trembling amongst the phantom crashes of bombs. Silhouettes of broken, airborne bodies. The panicked screaming of men as they bared their entire lives as shields for the front line. The incessant batter of gunfire. He couldn’t let them go. He couldn’t unsee the blinding flash of explosions. Couldn’t escape the unrelenting ringing in his head. Couldn’t wash away the blood on his hands. It was all too much, too much, too much! He whimpered, keeling over the edge of the bed, gripping his head in a fitful attempt to seize control of the maniacal, bloodthirsty frenzy that consumed every bit of his flesh, awakened or otherwise. Klaus felt himself capsizing amongst the treacherous waves. Every explosion knocking him in another direction until he was running blindly into a deserted field, surrounded by abandoned corpses. They wouldn’t shut up! All crying out for help, begging him to understand, pleading for help. Why won’t they go away, oh God, why won’t they go away? Is this what it looked like? The end? The weight of an undead world sat so heavily on his failing shoulders. Hundreds of blue contorted faces shrieking in a gruesome refrain. Snap out of it, Klaus, snap out of it!

  
Klaus’s eyes flew open, another sharp gasp filling his choking lungs. A pitiful sob slipped from his shivering form. Hot tears dripped down his cheeks, glossing his bare chest with the stains of traumatized sorrow. And there you were, sleeping so peacefully, a delicate hand resting on his pillow. Cracks spread across his chest, an implosion of the heart, at the sight of your innocent slumber. Klaus wanted to reach out to you. A deft caress of the cheek, a gentle brush through your hair. But he couldn’t bring himself to rouse you from chasing the birds, for you were far too beautiful, and it would be a crime to disturb your serenity. So the twitch in his hands was repressed, and he watched you in wonder. A tear-laden face haunted with the ghosts of broken promises and devastating grief. Why were the nightmares coming back? Why couldn’t he be left alone? Why was he constantly reminded of him? His body, his mind hungered for a fix. The gluttony of an addict would be a voracious famine never to be quelled. Klaus needed this numbness. Just something - anything! - to lock away the screaming secrets that shrouded his every move. Why won’t they shut UP! But God, you would be so angry, so hurt if he fell back into his old habits. He couldn’t bring himself to picture your sweet, sweet face ravaged with fury and despair. He knew this would break your heart. He knew he was leaving all this sweat in your bed, but his broken heart was bleeding and his chaotic mind wouldn’t cease this simulated torture. He needed this. Though his feet were glued to the cold wood floor, he managed to pull himself away from you. But the whispers of your lonely, subtle voice lingered with its fingers around his neck like a wraith. “…please don’t leave me here, my love…” But he had to. He had to run away from all this mess. Surely you’d understand. Surely, surely, surely. But there was no way to fend off the guilt in his heart. Goddamn it all. This power was not a privilege, but a curse. All of these stuttering emotions were set up to fall apart. He grabbed some cash from your wallet, a stinging pain shooting up his arm as the betrayal began its course through his veins. Oh, lover, don’t turn away from him now. Not when he needs you the most. Klaus crept out the door, careful to blend his silence with the night’s. To think you held any value to his carved up soul. You’ve pegged him as the wrong man. One giant mess of a man. Your confusion was partly due to him. He couldn’t be the person Dave needed him to be. He could never be the person you needed him to be. He left you behind with a gun to his head, his own finger clutching the trigger. He wiped away his remaining tears and sprinted out into the darkness of unforgiving streets once more.

  
“You better run, boy. You run like one son of a gun.” It was his former sergeant barking at him on the cusp of another battle. The fear still struck his core. So he ran. Bare feet striking the wet, cold asphalt.

  
“Knock ‘em dead, kid.” Dave’s voice called out from the shadows behind him. A faltering step. A hiccuping cry. The world was turning upside down. The pavement overturned every uncertain tread. A stomach ripped open at the stapled seams. But he had to keep going, just run. Just run, run, run. The searing pain flared through his legs, but he was desperate to disconnect from this twisted pantomime.

  
“You are unattainable, Klaus.” You said to him, embraced in his naked hold. “You float in worlds far beyond my reach.” You smiled. He could still taste the silken kisses tracing his lips.  
“What are wings for, bird?” He whispered into your ear, holding you tighter. “Just don’t fly too far from me.” Oh, but you soared far above him amongst the heavens. You sailed safely inside of his head, granting him a security he could never afford.

  
He shook his head, ridding himself of the revolting irony, settling himself in a cold stone corner in a back alley. He shredded open the plastic from the syringes. He wanted to rip this addicted creature from his chest, throw away the hurt he continually caused. But this bone - sucking craving caused him to abandon all reason, all sense of who he is and who he was. How could he do this to you, of all people? One who understood the craving and took away the pain with the mercy of angels. The beast within him has raged before, but it was before he met you. It was before he sold his soul to you. There is beauty in the darkness, but he didn’t want to walk among the monsters of the night. He wanted to be held in the soft down of your soul’s feathers. Hide this bastard from his ghosts and regrets. The needle pierced his skin. The cold sting of the sedative rushed to mute the dying cries. A relieved sigh released. Liberation in a single needle. The fragments of reality dissolved in the bloodstream. Portrait of time repeated.

  
Oh, love, you best believe. He’ll keep fighting for him. He’ll keep fighting for you.

————————————————

You lay there, enveloped in unforgiving sheets. The winds grew heavy outside your window, whipping the tree limbs in a violent dull roar. Thunder rumbled in the distance. You could feel the pressure change around you, pressing into your ears and chest. You wanted to run out into the downpour bare chested and baptize yourself in its carelessness. To release the knots bundling themselves in your stomach so deep it made you nauseous. You were laying at the bottom of the pool, and Klaus was far above you, his rippling form watching onward as the water took you. If only the pattering of the rain wasn’t so taunting. If only you could focus on something other than him. His voice broke your stare from the ceiling as you turned your head to face him.

“You were talking in your sleep last night. The tables have turned, haven’t they?” He offered a quiet smile, reaching out to brush his fingertips across your cheekbones. Your brow furrowed, searching his face.

“Well, what were you doing? You normally sleep like a baby. You could sleep through a hurricane. Why were you awake?” Your eyes twitched into a slight squint, the doubt lurking within every inhale that filled your lungs. Trust spilled away from your opened palms, dusted away by the storming saints swarming around you.

“I don’t know. I…I was just watching. You’re very fascinating when you’re dreaming. You seemed…you seemed sad, though.” He heaved a sigh, pulling his arm away from you and shuffling to lay flat on his back again. His face tensed slightly, only passing hardened glances around the room.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? If-if I was suffering, why didn’t you at least hold my hand? Why’d you just watch?” You sat upright, looking down over him. Your intentions were not accusatory, but the pain in your chest wanted to know why he wasn’t there for you. Why he didn’t try and stop the hurt.

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to intervene. It just…it seemed like you were suffering somewhere else. I didn’t think it was my place to do anything about it. I doubt I could have even dragged you out of it if I tried. I just…I just let you be. This really isn’t that big of a deal.” He rubbed his face, groaning and shaking his head, sitting up.

“So, you just let me suffer?” The rain pummeled the window in a ferocious attempt to break through. Thunder coursed through your trembling walls.

“Well, yeah, I guess…if you put it that way. But it’s kind of poetic, you see. People who go through stuff together, it’s like they’re relationship is stronger. Or, something like that.” His hands flopped to the bed, staring at you with an absurdly confused expression. You let your anger untie itself, breathing it out. But you felt your fortress deteriorating around you, the banks of your emotions were about to break.

“So…you think that people who suffer together are better connected than people who are content?”

“I do, yeah. I think so.” He nodded, still searching for some sort of explanation for this turn in conversation.

“Do you think if you’d been through something big. If you’d been through something catastrophic, like a storm or some giant flood together, something horrendous and terrible, it would bring you closer together?”

“Yes, yes, I really do. Don’t you think so, with all of your questions?” The irritation was inevitable in his voice.

“But what if…what if they are creating the disaster within themselves?” Lightning flickered across your darkened face.

“Well, that’s what happens,” he sighed with a flustered exasperation, “That’s just, that’s how it is sometimes. And it’s how you get through it that builds you two together or rips you apart. What’s on your mind, Bird? Why are you so caught up with this?”

You turned your back to him, feet pressing into the wooden floor as the shadows attached themselves to your heels. More lightning flung itself across your back. It imprinted your hunkered shadow beneath your feet. Your own inner toiling put your heart on trial for the blasphemous scenes your brain painted across your eyes. You were a heretic caught in Doubt’s shackled hands. How could you sell yourself so quickly to seal your fate. But his concern pierced into the ridges of your back. You could feel his wait as it settled thickly on your skin. Your voice croaked as you finally answered.

“There’s this big storm all around us, and we’re right in the middle of it, so it’s calm and we’re okay. But I can feel it surrounding us, like it’s everywhere. Things are okay now, but I just never know when things are going to change.”

“What do you even mean by that?” Klaus pulled himself out of bed and crossed the room to kneel in front of you, the green light burning your guilt-ridden eyes. His fingers moved to lift up your chin, but you turned away. His hand retracted and instead took your own. “Where did you go?” He whispered. His face bled with a careful worry. Colossal waves tossed you about, caught in the throes of some beast of a storm. You were a violent monster, thrashing about in his grip. He didn’t understand, he’d never understand. It was all you. All your doing. You wanted to push him away, scream about this fucking mess you made. You were lost in a faithless sea under starless skies. You shoved him away, throwing yourself off the bed and walking away from him, facing the dark empty hallway before you.

“What made us this way, Klaus?” You shook your head, running your hands through your hair. The foundation beneath you cracked and you were quickly crumbling with it. Another deep breath. “How did we get here?” Your voice quivered, falling to a whisper. He had such a hold on you, but everything was taking its toll on you even though he had no part in this self destruction. This was the weight of existing, of living with a heart given away. Your throat ached, a hurt that traveled down to your stomach. You wanted to scratch away the words from your tongue, to suffocate the devil within you that choked them out. “It feels like the ground is going to get pulled out from right under us and we’ll be left drowning in some great black ocean. Maybe we already are.” The hot tears stung as they carried themselves down your cheeks. “We are drifting farther and farther apart, Klaus.”

His hands grabbed your upper arms, pulling you to lean back against him. “I’m right here, Bird. I’m not going anywhere. I - “

“No! No, stop.” You forced him away from you, his very comfort the one thing driving yourself away from him. He stood there, wounded and uncertain. His pain made you sick. “You just don’t understand. You don’t get it, you don’t understand.”

“What - I don’t understand? Of course, I don’t understand!” His confused pleas cried out with more fervor. He was afraid. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on! I can’t - I can’t fix this if you don’t communicate with me!”

“There’s nothing to fix, Klaus. You can’t…you can’t just fix this! You can’t, you can’t…you won’t…” your voice broke, more tears pattering silently around your feet.

“I will, you just have to tell me what the hell is wrong! You are leaving me out here stranded! Is this…is this about my relapse? I apologized! I’m sorry I did it, but I thought - I thought we worked through that! You told me you understood!” You recoiled at his ever-rising voice. He shouted not out of anger but of desperation. The reckless fear rose with every sentence until it left your heart cowering beneath the shield of splintered ribs. “I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas from, but there’s no way I can fix us, fix whats falling apart if I don’t even know where to look! Can’t you hear me!? Tell me! Please, please, just tELL ME!”

“I love you, Klaus!” The words dropped from you as a dead anchor in a swirling sea. It clattered to the floor, splicing the heavy air with silence. Your hands shook, each heaving breath leaving your lungs with a cold tremor. He was suspended in a bustling complex of comprehension. You both stood on opposite sides of a great canyon, your feet barely clinging to the edge. You’d spent so long on the other side, waiting for him to wake up, that you never realized it was you holding him above the black relentless waters below. “I love you, but you won’t say it back because you can’t.” Your lip quivered, a mumbled sob barely slipping from your mouth.

“How…” he rubbed his eyes, head shaking fiercely as if it would somehow jostle things back to where they were. “I don’t - “

“You can’t say the words, can you? You can’t bring yourself to say them. Because of him. Because of what happened to D - “

“Don’t you dare say his name.” He immediately cut you short, his tone holding the blade to your throat. Klaus’ tear-ridden glare blistered you. His next words hissed from clenched teeth. “Just don’t.” You stumbled backwards, his anger a rare and terrifying sight before you. “You have no right bringing him into this. You have no right, absolutely none.” A tear abandoned his red eyes for the ground below. “He did nothing to you, and you will not blame him for any of this.” He jabbed a finger in your direction. You flinched away from him, taking another step back. “You don’t get to decide why I feel the way that I feel. You don’t get to decide who I should be for you. And you especially don’t get to weave my tragedies into your own fucked up problems. So what if I still love him? He was the first person I have ever loved more than myself. I get to bear this pain. I don’t owe you anything I gave him just because you feel like you deserve it!” Agony. Pure agony laced within every raised word. He held you in his glare, tension keeping his defenses rigid. Could you forgive the breaking heart for lashing out so barbarically?

Paralysis. The clocks stopped in the midst of his terrible wrath. A frozen moment where all of time mocked you. Your eyelids flickered against thick tears. The deafening silence of defeat pulled at your ankles. Every breath within you halted. Your chest caved inside, crashing around the splinters of your heart. You backed away, the cold flood waters rising to your neck as you slowly shut down. A machine short-circuiting in the downpour. The world around you went mute as you headed to the door, that isolating cold once again welcoming you home. A lethargic progression of escapism. You didn’t hear the pounding of his footsteps as he raced after you nor the thud of Klaus’s fists against the door as you shut it behind you.

You slid into your car, the numbness guiding you away from the hurt. His hands beat against the windows, calling your name frantically. The dull hammering lost itself in the passenger seat. He tugged at the locked handles. You didn’t spare him a glance. The car started and you pulled away, ripping the handle form Klaus’s desperate grip. Away from Klaus’s screams for you. Your dead stare wore on into the haze of night. You drove with a blind apathy, blocking every sensation out. Blocking every idea of him out. The mental snapshots melting away into the distressed flames of desolation. Every smile. Every tear shed. Every touch. Every kiss. Every single moment repressed into an emptiness that wrapped around your neck in a dangling noose that you could comfortably cling to. This was the end of love.

Klaus watched your taillights until they dissipated in the cold January rain, breathless from chasing after you. “Dammit!” He violently overturned a bench, a frustrated scream piercing through the surrounding bricks. He ran his hands through his soaked hair and staggered back to your apartment, cursing your car engine for starting. He slid down the door, his head leaned back to rest against the unconcerned wood of the door. And he sat in his dripping misery with his head sunk into his arms. And he cried. How damning it is to see just how feeble he was to cry over the love of you.

The unresponsiveness was wrought from the pains of a deteriorated childhood, and it served you well all of your life. It provided protection against the weaknesses of broken hearts and disappointments. It offered solace amidst life’s cheap tricks. Your greatest shield. Your greatest friend. Your lungs fought for breath but your mind was settling into the asphyxiated state of euphoric detachment.

“You’re a big baby, you know.” He laughed, brushing an eyelash from your cheek. You leaned into his touch, holding his palm to your cheek. You knew you were a big baby, and you were by no means ashamed. If it meant he’d hold you until you both went numb from blood loss, then you were perfectly content. The subtle warmth of his lips pressed to your forehead, the scruff bristling against your welcoming skin. Late morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, trapping you both in a comfortable heat. Your eyes found themselves looking back into his, those dark eyelashes framing those brilliant emeralds. A softened smile to quell the rush of blood to the head. The synchrony of two hearts beating as one.

A gasp preceded a tremendous sob. You were overcome with a love so overwhelming, so great, so vast. He was there, in every flicker of your vision. It was always him. Always Klaus. Nothing mattered before him. Nothing mattered after. This one minute, it was all him. You cried out his name in a harrowing despair, the tenderness of a shadow released from the heels of your feet. You would bathe yourself in him again.

Green light, green light, green light, headlights.


	10. Stage I - Number City

There was a moment of raging silence. A final gasp. Tires wailing across pavement. “Klaus!” A great cataclysmal crash. The piercing cry of shattering glass. The unforgiving shriek of steel wrapping itself around steel. A body thuds against concrete. 

“Attention, we’ve got a medical emergency.” 

It took no time at all for the ambulance to peel around the curve, sirens blaring. We were used to this. This abstract chaos of worn-out official officers scurrying to manage the mess, EMT’s and paramedics darting between to get to the collateral damage, the seizure-inducing glare of the emergency lights. It was easy to get a buzz from the rush - as if the adrenaline from the anarchy fed some sort of primal craving. But this one was different. I’d seen plenty of horrors in my career lifetime, but this was something far too ugly to ever be erased from my waking nightmares. Vodka wouldn’t even be able to wash away the scene. Of course, there was a crowd. There would always be an audience to life’s disruptions. It’s distracting, you see, to view a horror that surfaces introspection. To be reminded of just how vulnerable we, as a people, can truly be. 

Officers hustled the crowd to a considerable vantage point. Away from the blood-spattered smoking steel. But that didn’t stop the rampant gossips and gasps. Despite the raging scene laid out around me, I still managed to snag a few careless snippets sung from the throats of the blessed ignorant thieves.

“My God, how the fuck does this happen?”

“That car, I mean…it just plunged right into that, what, ten ton truck? Geez, man…there’s no way that car handled something like that.” 

“That driver had to have been stupid, not paying attention to the road. Damn kids these days…”

I helped carefully lift the mangled heap of bones and flesh onto the gurney and load it onto the waiting ambulance, pulling myself inside of the vehicle, which offered an uncomfortably unwavering silence.

“The patient’s condition is critical and fading quickly.” My partner quickly muttered into the static waves of our radios.

It was a frantic attempt to save a life in the back of an ambulance, but it’s hard to help something that looks so far beyond any inkling of hope. At the very least, we tried. I stared at what seemed to resemble a hand, wondering if that hand ever knew the warmth of a fresh cup of coffee, the frigid bitterness of a frosted December morning, the softness of a lover’s touch. Did this mess of shadows and flesh leave behind someone? A family? A lover? A legacy? A bar would be tonight’s final location. Gin would be the holy water to the bloodbath of sin I am slowly drowning in. I want this night to be torn out of me. I felt the sting of regret well up in my eyes, and I quickly avert my gaze. As much as I wanted to pursue resuscitation, hopelessness carved its way into the heart monitor. An ambulance can only do so much. At this point, the hospital was the best guarantee.

The carnage on the gurney remained idle despite the chaos ensuing everywhere else as the ambulance recklessly spit us out into the emergency room and through the winding halls of horrified onlookers. I hated viewing this person as an “it”, but it held no semblance to any human. Perhaps I was becoming too desensitized to the everyday horrors. Yet, there was still a tug in the middle of my lungs as I preferred to sit with a suicidal patient than have to trail this despairing sight. 

I finally catch a glimpse of the white coat, bathed in the white light of the operating room. I step away from the patient. I hear the whine of a defibrillator. A shock, a convulsion. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. The doors seal behind me. I get a drink.


	11. Stage II - Iron Fist

It was easy, I thought, letting a dark reality slip from your fingertips. An anger wrought from chains of worry and an internal despair made it so damn easy to release your grip on what you should have held the tightest. But, perhaps, letting go was a part of healing. 

“I haven’t even met your family, Klaus.” My hands dropped to my sides after shouldering off my soaked raincoat onto the back of the dining room chair. Klaus draped himself lazily across the couch, kicking off his shoes and wrapping his pale arms around a pillow. As if the pillow could protect him from my inquisition. 

“They’re a bunch of assholes. Complete careless assholes.” He pressed his cheek against the ribbed corduroy of the pillow. “You don’t want to meet a big group of assholes.” And maybe I didn’t. But I felt compartmentalized into a singular box that could not interfere with any of Klaus’ other boxes. He kept me locked away from every other aspect of his life under the pretense of protecting me. But underneath my ribs, a searing suspicion burned its way into my bones, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was protecting himself.

A piercing gasp echoed as the lightning coursed its way through every fiber and vein. My body seized and lunged itself forward, convulsing as my eyes rolled to the ceiling. If only it wasn’t so damn blinding. A tear-inducing sterility blazing its way into my skull. And the pain is so excruciating. God, how were we born with such a capacity to feel, goddammit!? I can’t feel my legs, my legs, God, where are they?! I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t fucking breathe! My lungs, oh fuck, my lungs they HURT they HURT are they crushed? collapsed? And I feel the people around me, the whispers of their coats, that infernal goddamn BEEPING! Why is everyone talking talking talking it’s so loud so loud goddammit shut up! Shut up shut up shUT UP!! Their slithering fingers are cold, freezing cold, oh God…My body slams back against the gurney. That’s where I am. A gurney gurney gurney hospital. I’m in a hospital. Room? Yes. Doctors? Yes. Shit shit shit. I…can’t…see. But I can hear. My eyes flutter shut as the world distorts into a blurred mess and the noise around me multiplies exponentially. 

“This case is quite possibly the worst I’ve ever seen. My God.”

“Doctor Strange?”

A crash, screaming. I hear you. I hear you, but how do I know you. I know you I know you I know you. You know me, don’t you? 

“Have you forgotten your place? Sir, I need you to leave, now!”

The world is a desolate place, spinning in some spacial carousel of the unknown. The pain is dissipating, and the man, the screaming sad man has disappeared. A muted chaos continues.

Cold hands. 

Heart monitor, beeping?

I’ve got the situation under control, but there’s no guarantee a life can be saved. IV needs refilling. Scalpel. Keep that lung in place. Watch the brain. Heart monitor. Heart monitor. Heart monitor.

“Code Blue!” Another delicious pulse of lightning, and I am falling.

A truck horn. A truck horn blares, roaring in my ears, blotting out every commotion I thought I recognized. Where is the truck? I see no headlights. Only darkness. Black as the water beneath my feet. Ice cold. Am I walking on ice? Any step further would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it? The truck horn stops. And for a moment, an echo of silence beckoned me everywhere at once. I hear him. He calls my name. It is distant, far off, in another world. My mind says to stay. To wait. But my heart urges me forward. So I walk. Into the nothingness that beckons for me. As if God himself were praying to me and me alone.

A familiar man stands on the horizon. His outline traced by the dim light of the knowing. My feet are shrouded by the dark waters of the unknown. The water laps at my heels, sapping away my warmth. The glass beneath me refrains against the emptiness with each footfall. The man smiles at me. Wordless and subtle. Gentle. Comfortable. Warm. I know you. I know your name. Your eyes are green. My beautiful emeralds. Soft but sharply inquisitive. My hand reaches out, a timid brush of fingertips against skin. Your hollow cheeks. The silken coarseness of your scruff. Your lips, pressing a wary kiss to my fingers. I know you. Your name is Klaus. Despite the fear that paralyzes my limbs, I fall into a limp embrace. Here I am, offering myself as your prize. My face buries into Klaus’ shoulder as I lay entirely upon him, his arms effortlessly keeping me afloat. But I can’t move. I can’t…this isn’t right. My mouth, my voice, I can’t talk. I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move, oh no no no no MOVE DAMMIT your legs c’mon just an inch just move something anything I can’t breathe shit shit I can’t breathe! Klaus is silent, unmoving. But this struggle is tearing me apart! Can he not feel the desperation in my muscles? No, no, of course not. I can’t move anything at all. Nothing. Nothing nothing I’m surrounded by nothing and everything. And you, you’re still here how are you here why can’t I move. Not even a subdued scream can escape I can’t feel my legs my feet my feet my feet my - 

We’re dancing. My body lies limp in his arms, but he still continues this waltz of the macabre. This scene is disturbing. A dance between the puppet and puppeteer. There is no beat, no melody. Put me down, let me go! Release me please this hurts too much I can’t feel my legs release me release me!! Release my heart and let me go! My darling dear, release my heart. Please, please, please. You’re hurting me, crushing my heart in your cannibal grip! I am hurting I am hurting I am hurting you. Oh God, the pain! Christ, my lungs should be scorched! My head lolls back but he pays no notice. We spin in a distorted masquerade of strobing lights and on the brink of the earth. Every move caught in a snapshot of twisting realms. And I feel it, the darkness of the great unknown tracing its filthy hands down my spine. Death has greeted us, shadowing our pas de deux. Death’s kiss planted gently on my crown. A chilling fear blooms in my skull. My grip tightens and my feet match Klaus’. Desperation courses through every stumbling footfall. My chest thuds with every great crash of a defibrillator. But Klaus is here, he’s here, he’s here! My panicked eyes settle into his quiet emerald gaze. My clutch could grow no tighter. But he’s here, and that’s all I could ask for. Do not let me go, my love. I beg of you. Do not let me go. Please, don’t let me go.

I’m knocked violently backwards, a slow descent as my hands reach for anything to hold onto. Reaching in the dark. Klaus is nowhere to be seen. And I am alone again. My back collides with the floor and for a moment I catch a flash, barely a glimpse, of the operating room. It is brief, not even a second. But I see him, Klaus. He stands at my side. My eyes catch his, locked within tears and transience. And he is gone. The air is silent. The blackness is still. Wait. No no no no no no nO NO!

This is not how I go! This can’t be the way that I go! This is too soon far too soon how many years of my life will I miss? How many lifetimes will I surpass? Moments, all those moments I can’t afford to lose! I can’t let this be the foreclosure on my life. No, no, there’s too much to do too much to say how can you let me lose this?? God! Can you hear me?? Are you coming? Take me back, set me loose, let me wake up! You can’t lay your claim on me just yet! I am not some property to be possessed! No, no, I am human, and you are nothing but a false playmaker! You will not grip these strings tightly! I am not your puppet! I am me, I am me! I have a home, and it is not with you! This is not how I go. I will not leave him behind! You cannot HAVE ME!! Are you hungry for this? Hungry for a soul to steal in your own perverted ideals of retribution? Damn you, damn you to Hell! God, fuck…Please, I have too much to run home to. Please, God, this isn’t entirely my fault! How dare you steal me away, how dare you, how dare you, you wrathful gamekeeper! Merciless and ruinous pretense! The great unyielding Manipulator! Fuck you, you ungrateful bastard! 

But.

Maybe I am the ungrateful bastard. Life performs in stages of abbreviation. I didn’t respect that. I didn’t ground myself within each second. Each breath, forgotten. Every heartbeat, wasted. Have I truly passed the threshold beyond the concept of regret? Is it too late? Death is a chapter you can’t rewrite. But how I would love to steal the quill and grant myself the rest of my lifetime. Had I known my lifetime would only consist of a few solitary years, I would not have let our lives fall apart within such few ravenous seconds. All this time we wished we spent but lost it all. The things I could do, the moments I would change, the repressed words I would offer. Regret stamps every moment that didn’t resolve with ‘I love you’. 

But it’s too late for that now, you can’t change what has passed you by! This is it, this is it, Death works amongst intransigence and its gaze is on you now. You must suffer through what you let slip from your grip. You let so much go! You left behind so many circumstances that were waiting with bated breath for you to rise up to! Goddamn you! Goddamn your stubborn need to be human! You can’t let it go, you cant…you can’t let him go! Why would you do that? Why would you let go?? You hold on with an iron fist, goddammit! An iron fist! And you never let go! You never let go of that you hold most dear oh no no no no no no no, I’m running out of time, I’m running out of time. I see it, that light. Do I run do I run do I flee or do I go forward? I never did anything grand in my life too many things too many things to do wake up wake up my time’s up my time’s up you love him you love him you love him don’t lose your hope on me don’t do this don’t let me go this can’t be the end but it’s rushing towards me, crashing in waves. I can fight to stay afloat but I want to drown is there peace is there comfort what is it like there on the other side I can’t see clearly 12345671234567123456712345 keep me alive dear God keep me alive wake up wake up WAKE UP!! 

KLAUS.

My dearest love, take care of yourself. Don’t let yourself waste away. Don’t let yourself grow cold. I’ll see you on the other side. 

I love you.


End file.
